A Disclaimer: These characters are the property of MTV, and the intellectual property of the creators of Daria. I appreciate their indulgence in letting me build a world around them. I am doing this for love, not money, so please do not get your panties in a twist about it. Thanks.
Graduation
Ruthless Bunny
Daria tugged and pulled at the ill fitting bombazine gown, no matter what she did, it dragged on the floor. She stood in her apartment, mostly packed up into boxes. Her guests stood around like they were at a cocktail party, not a graduation. Her family flew in for the ceremony. Jake and Helen were chatting with Jane and Trent, catching up and exchanging Lawndale news and gossip. Quinn sat on one of the loft stairs, holding her camera, threatening to take candid shots. Lisa, Daria's landlord and now friend, was passing around homemade, organic, whole-wheat cookies.
"I think it's time we hit the road gang." Daria said, as she tried to move everyone towards the door. She held the mortarboard in her hand, waiting until she got to the stadium to affix it to her head with the handful of bobby pins that Quinn had given her.
At the stadium they separated, Daria to meet up with her friends on the field, and the rest to find a seat in the stands. The day was sunny but cool, a blessing to those wearing the black gowns. Daria met up with Kendra, Theresa and Sarah. They were all sitting together, even though they were graduating in different disciplines. Normally, they would have been joking around and making fun of the ritual, but they were more sober than usual. Not because of the gravity of the event, they weren't taking that seriously, but because they were all going in different directions. They had a hard time getting used to the idea that they were never going to be together like this again. Sarah and Theresa wept openly. Daria and Kendra mocked them, but secretly wished that they could cry openly too.
Daria wasn't excited, not about graduating. It was one more ceremony, a rite of passage. She was now, officially an adult. Technically, she had been one for the past four years, but college provided a safety net, a fall back position. Now, she was to make her way in the world.
In accordance with "the plan" Daria had accepted a position in Los Angeles. She would be writing web-site content for an electrical utility. It was a decent use of her talent, but it wasn't the ultimate goal. Ultimately she wanted to write novels. But there were bills to pay, so she took the job. Jane had cleared out two rooms in her large Laurel Canyon house for Daria. Since Mystik Spiral had a series of top ten hits, Jane and the band had become financially comfortable, which was a nice way of saying stinking rich. Trent had wanted Daria to move in with him, he had been pressing for that for quite some time, but she wasn't ready. Daria wanted them to get to know each other, their new selves. Four years had changed many things; it wasn't so far fetched that the complexion of their love might change too.
Daria fantasized about how their lives would be, and realized that it was a dangerous pursuit. The schism in their relationship was in how they viewed it. Daria's pragmatism wouldn't allow her to extrapolate into the future. She loved Trent, in each of the moments that they were together, but realized that there were personality flaws that could make a daily relationship problematic. Trent's success as a musician solved some of the problem. Daria didn't even want to think about the disaster that could have greeted her if Mystik Spiral had remained townies in Lawndale. Money was the least of it. Trent was a different type of person. He didn't own a watch; he was a little too in tune with his circadian rhythms. Even though he was successful in his profession, Trent still had a loose grip on reality. If Jane hadn't been around to insure that the band made it to their appointments, gigs and sessions, who knows where they would be right now. Directly above the center of the Earth, no doubt. Would Trent prove to be the type of man that Daria could see herself marrying? Did it depend on his continuing success, or could Trent be more than the lead singer of Mystik Spiral, and her adoring boyfriend? Trent didn't have the brains to ponder any of this, all he knew was that he loved Daria, and wanted her to be with him forever.
The commencement ceremony droned on. A few hours later, Daria hugged her college friends, for what might be the very last time, and re-joined her family. Although she spoke with them frequently, Christmas was the last time that they had all been together. This year Daria finally "outed" her relationship with Trent. It was anti-climactic, Helen and Jake didn't freak out, they didn't even object. Daria wondered if that was because they liked Trent, or if it was because they thought that nothing more would come of it. What she didn't know was that Helen and Jake saw themselves reflected in Daria and Trent, and that they were charmed by the idea.
"Quinn, you wouldn't consider not participating in your commencement ceremony, would you?" Jake asked hopefully.
"Only if it conflicted with my departure to Paris." Quinn said, tossing her tresses behind her.
"Done." Helen said.
"Really? You'd rather pay for me to go to Paris than sit through my commencement?" Quinn was delighted, that's what she'd prefer too.
"Yes." Jake and Helen responded.
"It's not that we aren't proud of you…" Helen began.
"But that was the most boring thing I ever sat through." Quinn completed the sentence for her. "No problem. Besides, commencement isn't really a big deal at my school."
They had reservations for a celebratory dinner at a restaurant by the bay. It was late by the time everyone had left for the hotel. Daria and Trent sat on the futon in her sleeping loft.
"All these boxes are giving me hives." Daria said, surveying her apartment from their perch.
"You don't like clutter do you?" Trent moved her hair off of her neck so that he could plant kisses there.
"No, I don't. But I do like that." Daria turned to face him, and they kissed.
"I know you do. Lay down, I'll give you a massage." Trent gently kneaded her shoulders, he expected to find them in knots, but she was surprisingly relaxed. "You looking forward to moving?"
"Yes, I'm looking forward to my job, and to massages like this. Don't stop." Daria was face down in her pillow, so her words were muffled. Trent's massage had turned from clinical to sexy.
"I'm happy that we're finally going to be together. By the way, will you marry me?" It was a question that Trent asked frequently. Daria's answer was always the same.
"You really know how to exploit a girl's weakness don't you? No. I won't marry you. Yet." Daria giggled. She liked the idea of being married to Trent, but she needed to be sure that they were truly right for each other.
"Yet, is right. You are going to marry me. One of these days, you are going to break down and follow your heart." Trent smacked her behind, and Daria jumped.
Follow her heart. A romantic concept, and she was glad that Trent followed his, but someone had to think for the both of them, and Daria was the one that was equipped for the job. "What if you can't stand my habits?"
"Which habits? Your compulsive list making? That waking up thing that you do? Cheese fries? I know all of those habits, and I love you anyway." He had moved to kissing her spine.
"What if I can't stand your habits?" She countered, liquefying under his expert attention.
"I don't have any habits, I'm not organized enough to do anything regularly enough to call it a habit." He traced circles lightly into the swell of her cheeks, eliciting a sigh of pleasure from her.
"Ohhhh, you've got a point there. Although, if you were going to make something a habit…" She trailed off as Trent slid himself on top of her, gently tracing his fingers along her arm and down the length of her body.
"I'll make this a habit forever." He was committed to her, from the deepest recesses of his soul. It wasn't just his heart, or his brain or his body that loved her; it was encoded in his DNA.
Daria set up her bedroom and office while Jane and the band were in Las Vegas for a gig. Trent wanted her to come with them, but Daria needed time alone to feel comfortable in her new surroundings. A trip to Ikea for some new bookcases and knickknacks, and Daria was home. She liked Jane's house; it was rustic, but cozy. She sat on the sofa and opened one of her books while she waited for them to return. She was lighthearted and in the mood for some Jeeves and Bertie. She had just dipped into a story involving Macintosh the Aberdeen Terrier when they came crashing through the door.
"Hey Daria, we're back! We brought Chinese food and bad videos." Jane dropped her suitcase at the front door. Trent ambled over to where Daria was sitting and gave her a big kiss. Jane went into the kitchen to get the food onto plates.
"Great, and you deliver, what more could I want?" Daria marked her place in the book and turned her attention to Trent. "So how was it."
"It was cheesy, you would have loved it. The Hard Rock was cool, but the rest of the place…" he shuddered, "sequin-city."
"Hey, Wayne Newton isn't complaining. Did you gamble?"
"No, we got paid for playing Vegas, I think we've exhausted our luck." Trent snuggled close to her. He wasn't taking her presence for granted.
Daria was afraid it might all go away, she wanted it doled out in measured portions but Trent insisted on showering her with his love. Daria held her breath and found that he wasn't going anywhere. She nestled into him trying to get used to having hot and cold running boyfriend. After four years of separation and reunion, steady wasn't an easy concept for her.
"I wish you had come with us." There wasn't much that Trent thought that he didn't express. "I missed you."
"You've only been gone for two days." Daria said, but she added. "I missed you too."
"Can I stay over?" He whispered. "Please?"
"Ask Jane, it's her house." Daria teased.
"Cool, she can't say no to me, I'm her brother. JANE!" He screamed. "Can I stay over?"
"Call Mom and ask her if it's okay." Jane said sarcastically as she came out of the kitchen juggling their plates.
"It's okay with Jane." Trent relayed to Daria.
"Thanks for the translation." Daria took her plate from Jane.
They ate and watched movies until it got late. In some ways it was just like nights they spent together in Lawndale. Except at the end of the evening, Daria wasn't sleeping on Jane's floor in a sleeping bag. Jane had gone upstairs to go to bed. Daria's rooms were downstairs. The lots in the canyon made for interesting floor plans. Daria had lined her private staircase with framed photos of everyone who was dear to her. The frames were clear, and the pictures had been matted, so they looked like works of art, instead of snapshots. Trent scanned them on their decent. He liked the photo of the two of them. Daria's expression was one of sheer joy, he had only seen that expression when they were alone together, but Quinn had managed to capture it so that it could be shared with the world. He touched it, just to be sure that it was solid and real, and not a hallucination.
Trent looked over the rooms. When Jane bought the house, the semi-private suite had been the deciding factor for her. She knew that Daria was moving in with her, and the set up was perfect. There was a private entrance, as well as an arcadia door that opened onto a patch of garden. Daria had been busy, she had washed the walls with a pale blue paint, and had colorful framed prints hanging on them. Her office was lined with books and bookcases. Matching blue and white curtains covered the windows. Daria's futon had been replaced with a king-sized bed. Trent's eyes lit up when he saw it. "Is that for us?"
"Yes dear, the big bed is for us. What do you think?" Daria wanted him to like it. She wanted him to understand that it was her space. She needed to know that he approved of the way she was handling their relationship.
He picked her up and threw her on the bed. "It's great, take off your clothes."
That answer was good enough for her.
Daria woke up first, which was generally how it worked with them. Trent had kicked off the covers in his sleep so he was sprawled out butt naked on his side of the bed. Daria checked him out. The tattoos had taken getting used to. He also had more jewelry than she did. She counted the earrings and rings, just to pass the time. After she had taken inventory, she headed into the bathroom. The room was entirely white, illuminated by the sun shining through a distorted glass block window. The green of the shrubbery outside shone through, silhouetted against the strong morning sun. Daria ran the bath water and debated about what to put in the tub. Oils, salts or bubbles, she decided on foaming bath beads. She piled her hair on top of her head and slid into the blue water. The oils glistened on her skin and the fragrance wafted up from the warm water. Daria reveled in her bath.
She had floated away, her mind drifting to a deserted place, where she felt happy, peaceful and calm. As if bidden, Trent came into the bathroom. He was sleep logged. He took a short detour, when he was finished he noticed Daria in the tub. He started to wake up, in every sense. The tub was oversized, and he was a narrow guy. He did the math, and climbed in.
"Hey! You're getting me wet!" Daria protested, trying to protect her hair.
"That's the idea." Trent tried to leer, but it was too early for him to make a job of it.
"Pervert." She responded.
They were quiet, enjoying being together in the bath. Daria leaned against him, her hair had come down, and the ends had gotten wet. Trent was painting on her back with a tress.
"Trent, are you sure that you're okay with all of this? We haven't really spent much time apart since I moved down, did I make too much of getting my own place?"
"Look, you need to prove to yourself that we belong together. If you had moved in with me, as much as I would have loved it, you would constantly be questioning whether we were together because of our housing situation, or because we really do love each other."
"So what's this all about? Is this a honeymoon?"
"I hope not. I expect that everyday of our married life is going to be like this. We're going to grow and change, but this is going to be the fixed point of our compass." He kissed her shoulder for emphasis.
Daria looked at him, surprised by the complexity of the metaphor. "Compass? So is that something you remembered from Geometry or John Donne?"
He groaned. "Geometry? Did I even take geometry? I don't know who John Donne is, friend of yours?"
"I think you've got more math up in that head of yours than you'd care to admit. And for a guy who writes songs not to know John Donne is just wicked." Daria shook her head in mock disapproval. She got up out of the tub, over Trent's protests and returned with a book. "If they be two so as stiff twin compasses are two, thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show to move, but doth if th' other do."
"I don't even know what that means. And how do you remember this stuff anyway?"
"It means that you and I, although we're separate people, are joined together. If one is stationary, and the other is moving, eventually you end up back where you started. You can't go anywhere without me, it might seem like we're apart, but even at the most tenuous we are still together. 'Like gold to airy thinness beat.' There's also a delicious pun on the word erect." She pointed it out to him in the text.
"Get back in the tub."
"No the water's getting cold. I've got a better idea, let's get back in bed." He hopped out, grabbed a towel and followed her.
Daria lay in bed, snoozing in the warm mid-morning sun. She needed to gradually come to the point where she could accept Trent. To bring her mind around to the idea that he was hers and she was his. They had survived four years of an intermittent love affair, now they had to learn how to love each other every day. She had already learned something about Trent's patience and understanding. She still needed to learn how to appreciate him, for who he was, as he was. This time on her own was a temporary stop on the road to forever with Trent.
Author's notes:
The poem is A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning, and if you like horny clergymen, they don't build them any better than John Donne.